


The Quietest Dream

by terryusnet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terryusnet/pseuds/terryusnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes suffers from a mental illness and lives in two different worlds - one of his dreams and one of real life. But when he gets a new doctor named John Watson, his two worlds merge for the better, and he begins to imagine that John is his new flatmate who is more than eager to assist him with his cases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quietest Dream

_Sherlock is on his sofa, his two hands pressed together directly under his chin. He feels the three nicotine patches slapped onto his arm, and they're sending tingly sensations through his body. He loves it. They help him relax, but they also help him think. He loves the chemistry of drugs, and nicotine is by-far his favourite choice of drug. He hears John come into the room, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes a sharp breath in and opens his eyes._

* * *

Sherlock Holmes slowly opened his eyes with a goofy grin on his lips. He stretched and reached out for the empty book beside him. As he did every morning, he held that book tightly to his chest and stared up at the ceiling. Time was passing by, but he couldn’t feel a single moment of it. He didn’t know what was coming next (he did, but he usually forgot about it), so he stayed. There was nothing to do other than that, after all. Staying. The door to room 221B (second floor, 21st room in wing B) opened an hour later and a man with soft, gray-blonde hair walked in.

He was a doctor, but he didn’t have a white gown on like most doctors. Instead, he Sometimes Sherlock’s memory lapsed, but he would always remember the day he first met John.

“I’m your new helper,” John had said. Helper. Not a doctor, not a psychiatrist, but a helper. Something about this man was warm, and colourful – Sherlock immediately liked him.

As John took his coat off and hung it on the wall, Sherlock shifted around in his bed and looked at the other man with curious blue eyes. "Nicotine p-patches. Helps me think." He murmured, and John looked at him with his strange eyes (Sherlock thought they were boring most of the times, but there were days when those came to life. Then they sparked and shined and Sherlock loved them). "Impossible to s-sustain a smoking habit these days...B-Bad news for brain..." He continued, rambling, and talking mostly to himself. As far as he was concerned, he was still on the sofa in his flat at Baker Street. 

John gave a small smile, and took his notes out. "Good news for breathing, though." He replied, and Sherlock blinked. "How are you doing?" 

Sherlock shakes his head, ignoring the question. Boring. Those questions are boring. He likes it much better when they get to the puzzles, though he's not too fond of numbers. He likes playing with the coloured water - that's his favourite part. 

"Okay, then. I brought you breakfast." He said, "but first..." 

"Bonbon?" Sherlock asked, holding his hand out. To that, John pressed a sole finger to his lips and took a single, round candy out. Since the first day of their meeting, John had been bringing a candy to their session, and Sherlock had called them bonbons ever since he could remember. The doctor didn't really understand why and where exactly his patient had picked up that French word from, but he'd always assumed it had to be his family, one way or another. 

"Remember, you're not supposed to tell Greg or Mrs Hudson." 

Mrs Hudson was a nurse who came in to clean Sherlock's room every once in awhile. She loved the young man dearly, but she really did despite messes. And Sherlock wasn't the cleanest bloke on the planet. Greg, on the other hand, was John's supervisor and the boss-man of the hospital. He was loving as well, but his job always came first. 

"Shh." He giggled as he unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth. He sucked eagerly, rolled it around in his mouth, but it did disappear more quickly than he would have liked. He would have normally gotten irritated, but today was a good day. "Food." He agreed, then, and then pushed himself up to a sitting position. 

After he ate (with a little help - he was a bit sloppy at times, but he was slowly learning), he looked up at John and made a sharp noise. His doctor immediately became worried and asked him what was wrong. Then, with a dramatic roll of his eyes, Sherlock held out his hand. "What happened in Lauriston Gardens?" He asked, "I m-must have blacked out." 

John shrugged, and simply took the hand. He was learning too, he noted. Sometimes it was hard to tell what Sherlock was thinking, or which world he was living in now. All he knew was that he was disconnected with this world, the real world, and he was supposed to be helping the other adjust slowly, step by step. "You blacked out?" He asked, voice quiet and unalarming.

"No, no! Twenty-two Northumberland Street. P-Please come." Sherlock shouted, frustratedly. Then John held up a glass of water to him and a small, grey-blue pill, and Sherlock swallowed it with a heavy sigh. He chattered about a little more, even though John sometimes was so daft and could hardly keep up with him. He didn't know why he kept the man around, sometimes, but he was nice to him. Perhaps the only nice person in this entire universe, since he hardly got along with anyone else. 

Three hours later, John was gone, and Sherlock watched wearily as a figure of a man began to form on the corner of his room. 

 _"Taxi for Sherlock Holmes,"_ The figure said, and Sherlock's eyes slid to a close.

* * *

_John is running across the street, with the gun in his hand, breathing hard. He hasn’t yet realized that his cane is missing again, but right now, there is only one thing in his mind and that is to save Sherlock Holmes. All he knows right now is that Sherlock’s life is in danger and that he is about to become the fifth victim of this serial killer._

_When he comes across two buildings, he doesn’t have time to waste and enters the one on his left. He runs, and runs, until he sees Sherlock in the other building and everything after that is a quick, messy blur, but there’s a gunshot being fired somewhere and the gun is in his hands._

_Afterwards, he tries to hide the fact he’s the one who may or may not have saved Sherlock’s life. But Sherlock deduces it quickly, but they don’t linger on the subject. Instead, they go to Chinese._

_Sherlock feels very, very happy._

**Author's Note:**

> That was short, sorry - but I really just wanted to get my ideas down and it's just a bit of an intro, in my head. Hopefully the following chapters will be more elaborate, if I do decide to run with this idea. 
> 
> This is my first fic I've put on a site other than tumblr! It's unbeta-d and unbrit-picked, and English is not my first language (close, but not quite). I'd really appreciate feedback. Thank you!


End file.
